Not land, not money, but a legacy of honor.
Suddenly, without knowing why, the officer thought of Maylo ChienChu. She had doubts about their relationship. That was obvious. Could her doubts have been related to his? After all, why should she be sure of him, if he doubted himself? Or was that too easy?
Whatever the reason, he felt stronger now, confident that he was entitled to the stars that rode his shoulders and the responsibility that went with them. Because of the objects in the box? The pilgrimage to get them? The fact that his mother cared? It hardly mattered. What was, was. Half an hour later Booly crawled into his sleeping bag, closed his eyes, and entered a dreamless sleep. Millions upon millions of snowflakes fell from the lead gray sky, performed airborne pirouettes, and spiraled into the ground. They formed a lace curtain through which Neversmile and Wilker maintained their watch. A jumble of boulders broke the wind, provided the twosome with some cover, and screened the trail. They waited through six foreshortened “days” before stones rattled, a dooth coughed, and General William Booly made his way down off the plateau.
He paused no more than twenty feet away from them to scan his surroundings. He felt something—but wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was sent a chill down his spine. The officer resisted the impulse to pull his blast rifle, kicked the dooth in the ribs, and continued on his way. He wanted to reach the fort—wanted to leave the planet. Algeron was in good hands, and there was work to do. Lots of it. Neversmile waited until the general had established a sizeable lead, mounted the cyborg’s back, and spoke into the mike. “Senses to max. .. patrol speed.” Wilker obeyed. Behind them, covered by a thin blanket of cold wet snow, lay two mounds of carefully piled rocks. Algeron continued to spin—and darkness swept in from the east.
Chapter 5
On War
Standard year 1832
Planet Hudatha (Protectorate), the Confederacy of Sentient Beings The packet ship Mercury dropped into orbit, offered a burst of code, and waited for the appropriate response.Battle station Victory, one of four such structures constructed immediately after the last Hudathan war, hung like a dark omen over the planet below. One of the vessel’s many computers checked, confirmed the newly arrived ship’s identity, and gave the necessary permissions. The Mercury’s control room was too small to accommodate visitors—but a viewscreen filled one of the wardroom’s four bulkheads. Governor, now Envoy Sergi ChienChu watched with keen interest as the battle station grew to fill the smaller vessel’s screen. At the conclusion of the last war, he had played a role in the seemingly endless design process that led up to the Victory’s construction. So, in spite of the fact that he’d never seen the finished product before, the industrialist recognized the spherical shape as well as the heavy duty weapons mounts and the other installations common to Monitor class warships. Because, for all her size, the battle station was capable of movement, had to be capable of movement, given the complex interplay of gravitational forces associated with Hudatha and her Jovian binary. The battle station Triumph, now obscured by the planet itself, had nearly been destroyed during the mutiny while Victory and two other platforms remained loyal. A matter of no small importance lest the Hudathans escape.
ChienChu thought of the Monitor class ships as something akin to old-fashioned corks, the kind used to keep mythical genies trapped within their bottles. Now it was he who proposed to release them. Was he correct in wanting to do so? Or just terribly naive?
But the packet ship bore two passengers . . . and as the Victory grew larger and the landing bay opened to receive them, the second had some very different thoughts. War Commander, now Ambassador DomaSa looked out on what appeared to him as nothing less than a mechanical monster, a machine that could sterilize the surface of the planet below. The fact that his people had actually perpetrated such horrors on others, had reduced entire worlds to little more than radioactive slag, made no difference whatsoever. This was unjust, this was unfair, this must end.
The Victory’s cavernous landing bay swallowed the Mercury as if she were little more than a snack. ChienChu watched with considerable interest as the packet ship followed a bright orange robodrone down the center of a blast-scarred deck and toward the area reserved for transient vessels. Here was a significant portion of the Confederacy’s remaining strength, resident in row after row of sleek two-seat fighters and squadrons of boxy assault vessels. None of which could be used against the Sheen lest the genie escape. Who was truly captive? The industrialist wondered. The Hudathans? Or the forces left to watch them?
There was a noticeable bump as the packet ship touched down. All manner of maintenance droids, robo hoses and other automated equipment rolled, slithered, and swung into action. The Mercury would be refueled, provisioned, and relaunched in less than six hours.
DomaSa struggled into some standard issue Hudathan space armor. ChienChu thanked the Mercury’s four person crew and hauled his duffel bag to the lock. It took three minutes to cycle through. Self-propelled stairs stood waiting, along with a spacesuited lieutenant commander and two ratings. She saluted, and her voice came over ChienChu’s onboard multi-freq corn unit. “Welcome aboard. Admiral. My name is Nidifer. We received orders to dispense with the side party. I hope that was correct.”
ChienChu returned the salute and smiled. “Yes, thank you. Your people have enough to do... Let’s save the ceremony for real admirals Please allow me to introduce Ambassador Hiween DomaSa.”
The naval officer bowed to the extent that the space armor would allow her to do so. “Welcome aboard. Ambassador. My name is Nidifer, Lieutenant Commander Nidifer. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Please follow
